


Autumn Sweater

by Bittersweet_in_Boston



Series: The Four Seasons [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Avengers Tower, Chicago, Cute fall shit, Fuck yeah turtleneck sweaters, Hey Buck I got a problem, High School Football, Hot Tub, I’m right here, Killer Robots, Kingston NY, Kissing, Le Canard Enchaine, Longyear Farm, M/M, New York City, Nightmares, No Means No, Opinions on home decoration, Oral Sex, Oriole 9, Post-Black Panther (2018), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Psychological Trauma, Saugerties NY, Steve and Bucky are working it out, Woodstock NY, Zola’s train in the Alps, oh yeah that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21639646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittersweet_in_Boston/pseuds/Bittersweet_in_Boston
Summary: “Get that one up there,” directs Bucky, as Steve stretches to pick a macoun off a tree and put it in their bag of apples. “No, not that one, ya punk, that one.” He points to a huge red and green apple toward the top of the tree. They’re in the orchard at Longyear Farm in Woodstock, which is buzzing with families on this beautiful fall day, but they’ve retreated to a corner where the trees are more well-picked over and the crowd is smaller.“Christ, Buck, I’m not that tall,” says Steve as he jumps to try to reach the apple. Bucky smirks and takes a bite of the Granny Smith he’s holding. He’s still mad at Steve, but making him do stuff is fairly enjoyable, as is the view of his butt from this angle as his jacket rides up.“C’mon, Stevie, put some effort into it,” says Bucky in over accentuated Brooklynese. He finishes his apple and throws the core with unerring accuracy at America’s Ass(TM). It bounces off hard and lands in the grass.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: The Four Seasons [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559860
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	Autumn Sweater

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after CA:CW and Black Panther in a world where Bucky is reintegrated with the Avengers after his treatment in Wakanda and the events of IW and Endgame never come to pass. Steve and Tony have reconciled and rebuilt their friendship, and Steve and Bucky are together and working on their relationship, with some bumps in the road.
> 
> All of the locations in this fic (including the VRBO house) are real. I moved some locations around in the Woodstock/Saugerties/Kingston area to make the story work, apologies to people more familiar with that region than I am. 
> 
> Saugerties High did not beat Wallkill this past football season, but I changed it because come on, it’s the home team and Steve and Bucky deserve even that little extra bit of happiness. 
> 
> The title of this fic is also the title of a Yo La Tengo song.

“Nat.” Bucky nods to Widow as she sits down at the island in the Tower’s communal kitchen.

“Soldier,” says Natasha, the left side of her mouth crooked up in a smirk. She’s wearing a huge pink sweatshirt over leggings covered with unicorns and stars.

Bucky takes a huge bite of cinnamon toast and slugs back some coffee. Nat eats some oatmeal with what looks like dirt on it but is probably just nutritional yeast. He waits.

“Steve?” Nat inquires casually, picking up her green juice.

“Asleep,” Bucky answers curtly. He finishes his coffee, gets another cup, and sits back down. Nat’s eyebrows raise a few millimeters.

“Hmm,” she says, covertly studying Bucky’s face. He looks like he should still be asleep too, purple shadows looking like bruises under his eyes and the wrinkle between his eyebrows even more pronounced than usual. She chooses her next word carefully.

“Dreams?” she says in a neutral tone, staring intently at the oatmeal. Bucky is quiet for a moment, then...

“Uh-huh.”

“Hmm,” she says again. And then the room is silent.

The next morning Bucky is creeping out of their apartment to go to breakfast when his phone buzzes with two texts from Nat. The first is a contact card for a therapist specializing in PTSD. The second is a VRBO reservation confirmation for a cabin in the woods between Kingston and Saugerties for the following weekend.

*****

“Wait, where are we going?” says Steve for the third time. It’s Friday evening and the traffic on 87 is just opening up as they head north out of Newburgh toward Poughkeepsie.

Bucky takes a deep breath and says (again), “Nat rented us a cottage outside Woodstock for the weekend.” His voice stays patient but his hands grip the steering wheel of their Zipcar a little tighter.

“Hey, that’s nice of her, but I’m not sure why?” says Steve, stretching his arms forward. Their rental is a decent-size SUV but he still fills the passenger seat like he’s sitting in a Ford Fiesta.

“She wanted us to have a relaxing fall weekend away, take a break, get some space from the city and from work,” Bucky answers, trying hard not to grind his teeth.

“Space from work?” Steve ponders, scratching his head. “That’s weird, things have been calm for a while...it’s been ages since the Avengers have had to deal with any trouble.”

“Oh my God,” says Bucky in a quiet, icy voice that is somehow more upsetting than shouting. “I gotta say, Rogers, if I wasn’t driving right now I’d slap you upside your perfect head.” Steve opens his mouth to say something (probably stupid) in response but his stomach growls, the sound reverberating around the interior of the car.

“Let’s get something to eat,” interjects Bucky. He pulls off and follows signs to the Eveready Diner in Hyde Park.

They sit in silence in the diner, eating giant pieces of banana cream pie after their second plate of fried chicken and mashed potatoes and greens. It’s clear that Bucky is pissed and Steve is uneasy, looking up as if to say something and then lowering his eyes back to his plate. Finally he screws up his courage and looks directly at Bucky.

“Buck, what’s going on,” he says as gently as he can. Bucky finishes his pie and looks up at him, his blue-grey eyes stormy.

“What’s going on?” he hisses. “What’s goin’ on??” He looks at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. “It’s been three weeks since Chicago, and you’ve barely gotten a full night’s sleep that whole time. You wake up screaming almost every night and it takes hours for you to settle down again. And you talk about how everything’s all fine and wonder why the hell we’re gettin away for the weekend?”

Steve is quiet for a minute and then says ruefully, “Oh. Yeah. That. Chicago.” He exhales and runs his fingers through his short blond hair.

“Oh yeah. That,” Bucky sarcastically repeats. He calls the waitress over for the check and pulls out his wallet. He pays the bill and as they leave the diner he shakes his head and says, “You are a real piece a’ work, Rogers.” They get back in the car and continue north.

*****

They get to the cottage around 9 o’clock. It’s a beautiful place outside Woodstock, not too big, nestled in the woods right near the Ashokan Reservoir. They can’t see the lake at this time of night, but there’s a big dark spot with lights around it off the balcony, so they know it’s there. Bucky is still fuming and Steve has wrapped himself in a mantle of recalcitrant stubbornness, so neither of them say anything as they put away groceries in the kitchen, drop their bags in the master bedroom, and walk around.

It’s clear Nat was paying attention after helping them transfer from Tony’s friend’s nightmare mansion at Craigville Beach on Cape Cod to the little cottage in Provincetown this past summer. This place is a little bigger than that cottage, but it has some of the same charm, with wood floors and paneling, cozy spaces, and antique furniture. It also has a stone fireplace, a back patio with a fire pit and a hot tub, and a hammock just visible between two trees on the edge of the forest beyond the yard.

The two men would ordinarily be thrilled with this setup but right now the atmosphere is thick with tension and neither is enjoying himself. Bucky paces around the rooms like he’s establishing a secure perimeter and Steve stands almost at parade rest, staring out the French doors that lead to the patio.

Finally Bucky stops pacing and comes to stand behind Steve. He reaches out and tentatively puts one hand on Steve’s shoulder, saying softly, “Steve...can we talk about this?”

Steve’s features soften for a fraction of a second and then the old Rogers obstinance kicks in and he shoots back sarcastically, “I don’t know what there is to talk about, Bucky, I mean, according to you I’m a fucken lost cause.”

Bucky drops his arm from Steve’s shoulder as if he’s been burned, turns on his heel and walks away, muttering, “Goddamnit, fuck this shit, fucken Steve and his typical bullshit...fuck...”

Steve turns toward Bucky’s retreating form with a stricken face as if he means to go after him, but that mulish expression returns to his face and he goes out the French door to the patio to get some fresh air. The air is sharp and cold with a hint of faraway wood smoke, and the stars twinkle in the clear night sky. Steve’s head and mouth droop as he thinks about his partner’s anger...and how justifiable it is. He doesn’t want to deal with what’s been happening for the last several weeks, but he knows he must.

He stands outside for a little longer, watching his visible exhales steam out into the air and listening to the light breeze rustling the nearby trees. Finally he goes inside to talk to Bucky. But inside he finds the master bedroom empty and the door to one of the smaller bedrooms closed. When he quietly opens that door and peeks in, he sees Bucky fast asleep under the quilt.

*****

The next morning Bucky wakens around eight to see dappled sunlight streaming in through the bedroom curtains. It looks like a beautiful fall day outside - the sky is that deep autumn blue and the maples and aspens, lit up in red and orange and yellow, are swaying in a gentle breeze. He gets up, throws on a t-shirt and some sweatpants, and goes out to the common living space.

Steve is nowhere to be found, not in the living area or in the master bedroom, but the car is still there so Bucky assumes he’s out on one of his hours-long runs. He shakes his head and pads into the kitchen to start making breakfast. The bacon is done, the toast dings, and Bucky is just sliding the second giant omelette onto a plate when Steve comes creeping in through the patio door.

“Breakfast’s ready,” Bucky calls loudly, putting the full plates on the dining table and going back to the kitchen for coffee and OJ. Steve comes warily into the kitchen, sweating lightly and barely breathing hard. He looks simultaneously hangdog and like he’s ready to fend off a full-on judo attack. He looks at Bucky’s face, blank but purposeful, and sighs.

“You’re still mad, aren’t you,” he says quietly.

“Yep,” says Bucky at normal volume. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to feed you, especially after a run. You’re even more of a little shit when you’re starving.” Steve’s mouth curves up at “little shit” but his face instantly goes serious again.

They sit and shovel the food into their mouths with purpose, finishing with a third cup of coffee as they look out onto the reservoir and the surrounding woods. It’s beautiful and the scene would be bucolic except for the cloud of unspoken emotional strain that pervades the room. Steve keeps stealing guilty glances at Bucky and Bucky stares out the window, eyes fixed and jaw set.

Finally Steve stirs and says, “Bucky, can we talk? I know I was full of shit last night...”

“Yeah, you were,” Bucky cuts him off. “And now I’m pissed and don’t feel like talking about it, so you’re gonna hafta wait.” He stands up from the table, grabs his dishes, and heads toward the kitchen, calling, “C’mon, Steve, it’s shower time. We’re gonna go apple picking and have the nice fall weekend Nat planned, even if it kills us.”

*****

“Get that one up there,” directs Bucky, as Steve stretches to pick a macoun off a tree and put it in their bag of apples. “No, not that one, ya punk, that one.” He points to a huge red and green apple toward the top of the tree. They’re in the orchard at Longyear Farm in Woodstock, which is buzzing with families on this beautiful fall day, but they’ve retreated to a corner where the trees are more well-picked over and the crowd is smaller.

“Christ, Buck, I’m not that tall,” says Steve as he jumps to try to reach the apple. Bucky smirks and takes a bite of the Granny Smith he’s holding. He’s still mad at Steve, but making him do stuff is fairly enjoyable, as is the view of his butt from this angle as his jacket rides up.

“C’mon, Stevie, put some effort into it,” says Bucky in over accentuated Brooklynese. He finishes his apple and throws the core with unerring accuracy at America’s Ass(TM). It bounces off hard and lands in the grass.

“Bucky, c’mon, what the fuuu...!” Steve checks himself, seeing as there are kids running around. But he turns toward Bucky and manhandles him further into the corner of the orchard behind a big oak tree.

“Seriously, Bucky, what the fuck,” he hisses. “I get that you’re mad but you don’t hafta be such an asshole.”

“Whaddya mean, Stevie?” Bucky taunts, moving closer to Steve. His hair is in a loose bun but a few tendrils have fallen around his face. “Nothin bad happened just now. Just like in Chicago, right? Everything’s peachy, yeah?”

Steve fills his cheeks with air, blows them out, and runs his hand through his hair.

“Alright, Buck,” he says quietly. “You win. I’m...not OK. I’m a mess. I told you this summer at the Cape that I’m a fucken disaster and...after Chicago, I’m even more of a fucken disaster.” He chokes up and tears prickle at the corner of his blue eyes.

“Hey, hey,” says Bucky, putting down their peck bag of apples and steering Steve farther away from the crowd in the orchard into the woods. There’s an old stone wall amidst the trees, remnant of a long-forgotten pasture, and he sits Steve down on it and grabs his hands. “I know you’re a mess. It’s OK to be a mess, Stevie. I should know,” he says wryly. They sit quietly for a minute, remembering what happened in Chicago.

Three weeks earlier, the latest evil megalomaniacal genius had tried to take over the world, starting in Chicago, with the usual army of killer robots. The fact that they were shaped like giant four-foot-long bugs was the only distinguishing feature of this particular Avengers-level crisis.

Except for the end of the mission. The superhero crew had dispatched the robots and handed the megalomaniac over to Fury and Hill within a few hours and with minimal damage to civilians and city landmarks. They had set a rendezvous on the roof of a 25-story local hotel waiting for Nat to pick them up in the quinjet.

As they stood on the roof surveying the city, a last rogue robot insect had careened out of the sky toward the group, shooting lasers out of its “eyes.” Tony had taken it down with a quick blast from his gauntlets, but as it landed at Bucky’s feet and Bucky had stepped on it, it had sent out a streak of electricity from its body. He had cursed and dispatched it efficiently with his boot and an accurate handgun shot to the source of the electricity, but then had stumbled on a loose piece of concrete and lost his balance.

Bucky had taken a few steps backward and grabbed a cell phone tower antenna on his way, but the metal bar had snapped and he’d tripped and fallen over the side of the roof.

“BUCKY!!” Steve had screamed, running toward the edge. But the former Winter Soldier was fine - he’d flipped in the air and grabbed the ledge of a penthouse window, quickly vaulting up onto the ledge. He’d been about to climb back up onto the roof when Tony had picked him up and deposited him back with the team.

Bucky had rushed to check on Steve as soon as he was back on the roof, but by that time Steve had recovered his poise and said, “I knew you were fine, Buck, everything’s good.” He’d refused to talk about it anymore and seemed fine, if a bit quiet, on the quinjet ride back home to the Tower.

All this is in Bucky’s and Steve’s minds as they sit on a centuries-old stone wall in the middle of the Hudson Valley. Bucky clutches Steve’s hands as Steve sits, red-faced and teary, head down. He waits for Steve. After a few minutes, Steve looks up.

“When you went over that ledge in Chicago, all I could think of was...” he tails off.

“...Zola’s train in the Alps.” Bucky quietly finishes his sentence. Steve nods helplessly.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Especially when you grabbed the cell tower and the bar snapped off. I panicked.”

“I know,” says Bucky, bringing one of Steve’s hands to his lips. “Even as I flipped over and grabbed the ledge I knew you were freaking out. But then you acted like everything was ok.”

”Yeah,” says Steve, sniffling. “I felt like I had to be all cool and brave and pretend like everything was fine.” He pulls one hand away from Bucky and wipes his eyes with it. “But it’s not fine. Every time we go out on a mission I wonder if I’m gonna lose you again. That asshole in Chicago and his stupid robots didn’t faze me at all, but you have a minor accident and I get a massive panic attack.”

Tears continue to roll down his face. Bucky reaches over and wipes them away with his flesh hand.

“That’s ‘cause you’re a stupid punk who doesn’t know when to be scared,” he says drily. “Those robots were lethal and we’re lucky the team came out fine and there was so little collateral damage.” His gaze softens and he gathers Steve into his arms.

“It’s OK to be a mess,” Bucky says in Steve’s ear. “But you gotta tell me, Steve. You gotta tell me when you’re havin trouble, when things suck. I promised you this summer that I’d stick around when things got tough - you gotta let me in when things get tough for you.”

Steve nods against Bucky’s chest. “OK, Buck,” he says, his breath catching in a sob. They sit like that for another few minutes, and then Steve looks up into Bucky’s eyes. He takes Bucky’s chin in his hand and leans forward to kiss him sweetly. Bucky returns the kiss with interest.

They’ve been making out for a few minutes when something moves out of the corner of Bucky’s eye and he breaks away reluctantly from Steve’s mouth to see a child of about eight watching them solemnly while she eats an apple.

The two men stare at her, horrified, for a good ten seconds and then Bucky says, “Welp, time to go, Stevie” and pulls his partner off the wall and back toward the orchard. As they walk past the girl, Steve, already bright red, loses his cool and babbles, “Hey honey, get back to your mom, OK? And wait til you’re ready to kiss anyone, be safe, no means no, you can control your own body...”

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Bucky hisses as he yanks Steve’s arm to move faster. They barrel out of the woods, grab their bag of apples, and make for the exit.

*****

They go to lunch at Oriole 9 in Woodstock and Bucky can’t stop laughing about Steve’s freakout in front of the little girl.

“Oh man, Stevie, that was one for the ages,” he says between giant bites of his Cuban sandwich. He and Steve have ordered giant salads and two sandwiches each and are sucking down large Cokes. Steve puts his brisket sandwich down and hangs his head.

“Fucken A, Buck, I just panicked,” he says, his flush spreading up his face into his scalp. “Hopefully she won’t tell her mom and we get picked up for public indecency.”

“In the woods behind an orchard is hardly public,” Bucky points out, which, true. He spears a few big mouthfuls of lettuce and then looks thoughtful. “What the hell are we gonna do with all those apples, Steve?”

Steve considers the question for a minute, then says, “Bring ‘em back to Darcy in the city. She’s a good baker. Maybe if we help her peel ‘em she’ll make a few pies.”

“Mmmm, pie,” says Bucky with his mouth full of pork chop. They eat in silence for a few minutes, then he looks pointedly at Steve and grabs his arm.

“Thanks, Stevie,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper that he knows Steve can hear anyway, even in the noisy restaurant. “Love you.” It’s not something he says too often, even though Steve knows he feels it all the time.

Steve chokes a little on his brisket and his eyes are shiny. “Love you too, Buck.”

They finish their lunch and wander outside. The warm sun shines overhead but there’s a chill in the air that says “fall.” Bucky looks at the store next door to the restaurant and remarks, “Oh, Nat said to check this place out, said it had some nice clothes.” Steve groans.

“Oh shit,” he says. “‘Nice’ is Natasha-speak for ‘trendy and over-priced.’” Bucky rolls his eyes and looks Steve up and down. Steve sports a brown suede barn jacket, plaid flannel shirt, and straight leg jeans with Merrells and basically looks like he walked out of an LL Bean catalogue (in contrast to Bucky, who’s wearing a black quilted floral bomber jacket, contrasting t-shirt and scarf, tight black jeans, and motorcycle boots). Bucky chuckles.

“C’mon, gramps,” he says, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the boutique. Inside the boutique Steve complains about the prices (“says Captain Moneybags,” Bucky shoots back), but Bucky picks out a number of things for him to try on. He looks good in just about everything, but Bucky is particularly taken with a cashmere v-neck in deep forest green that brings out the blue in his eyes.

Bucky buys it for him, along with a tight black t-shirt and fitted dark jeans. At the register Steve sees a flash of dark red in the pile of purchases that he doesn’t remember from the fitting room, and figures Bucky tried on some stuff too but for some reason doesn’t want him to see it.

They walk down to Sweet Dreams for double ice cream cones, and then get back in the car, intending to go back to the rental cottage to hang out. But on the way back they pass the high school where the home team is playing Wallkill, so they make a spontaneous decision to stop and watch the second half. It’s a close game, but Saugerties manages to pull it out at the end with a last-minute touchdown. Steve and Bucky cheer with the rest of the crowd and then manage to slip out at the end unrecognized. They return to the cottage and doze off on the patio lounge chairs, soaking in the autumn sunshine.

*****

Nat has booked them dinner that night at Le Canard Enchaîné in Kingston, and at first Steve grumbles about dressing up, but his face brightens when he hears about their creme brûlée. He puts on his new boutique ensemble at Bucky’s insistence. Bucky changes in the master bathroom and comes out wearing his scarf and bomber jacket over tight black pants and his boots, so Steve can’t really see his outfit.

At the restaurant they’re seated at a table in the corner away from the door, and Bucky casually takes off his outerwear to sit down. Steve stops dead on the other side of the table, mouth stuck slightly open. Bucky’s wearing a cashmere turtleneck in deep burgundy that perfectly sets off his grey-blue eyes and olive skin. He’s tied just the front part of his hair back, the rest cascading in waves to his shoulders. He looks like an elf prince who just stepped off the runway at Hugo Boss. Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s arm.

“Holy shit, ya punk,” he says in a low voice. “You are so fuckin gorgeous, and I am so fuckin lucky.”

“Yes, you are,” Bucky says back, tossing his hair back. Then his expression softens as he looks at Steve, the forest green v-neck emphasizing his blue eyes and bulging in all the right places, and covers Steve’s hand with his own. “But damnit, so am I.”

Steve’s not the only one who thinks Bucky’s gorgeous. Bucky’s wearing the sleeve covering his vibranium arm to avoid attracting attention, but he still gets plenty. Their server flirts with him all evening, as does the server from the next area over who brings them their appetizers. Several men and women pass their table to “casually” check him out. Bucky flirts lightly and cheekily with them all but his eyes always return to his partner.

Steve just drinks it all in, sipping his Cabernet and enjoying his steak and reveling in the sight of his partner in full bloom. He’s mildly aware of the two twenty-something blondes a couple of tables down who keep staring at him and giggling, but mostly he can’t get enough of watching Bucky being Bucky. It’s like his love has returned to his old 1930s Brooklyn self, only with more wisdom and self-awareness. It’s intoxicating.

As much as Steve loves seeing Bucky so relaxed and appreciated out in the world, though, toward the end of the meal he gets restless to have him to himself. As they’re finishing their promised creme brûlées, Steve leans over to Bucky and murmurs, “Hey Buck, I got a problem.” Bucky instantly looks concerned.

“Whatsa matter, Steve, something wrong? Having flashbacks?” He touches Steve’s hand.

“Nah, baby,” Steve croons. “My problem is that you in that sweater is really doin somethin to me and I need to get you home so you can take care of it.”

Bucky’s beautiful mouth twists upward in a smirk and his eyes light up.

“So you got a problem with my sweater, huh,” he drawls softly. “I thought that might happen. We should get home and do somethin bout that right away.”

They settle the check and say goodbye to Bucky’s fan club as quickly and gracefully as possible and almost run back to the truck. Bucky drives as fast as he dares on the country roads back to the cottage, with Steve gripping his thigh and telling him all the dirty things he intends to do to him through the entire trip.

By the time they skid into the cottage driveway they can hardly contain themselves. They rush into the house and Steve has Bucky pinned against the wall in seconds, kissing him hungrily and running his fingers through his hair. As he pulls on it, Bucky moans into his mouth.

After a few minutes, Steve stops short and they pull apart, panting.

“Hold on,” he growls. “I gotta pee and then I’m gonna fuck you into next week. Meet me in the bedroom in two minutes.”

Exactly two minutes later, Steve exits the master bathroom to see Bucky lounging back on the bed. He’s wearing the burgundy sweater...and nothing else. His bare legs fall open, and Steve’s eyes darken as he takes in the view.

“Well,” says Bucky, shrugging and smiling wickedly. “You said the sweater was really doin somethin to you...” He gets no more out as Steve crosses the room in two steps, grabs him by the shoulders, and fastens his mouth on Bucky’s. And then he makes good on his promise to fuck him into next week.

*****

“NO, BUCKY, NOOOOO...”

Steve sobs and shouts in his sleep, drenched in sweat, practically encased in the linens like a mummy in a tomb. It’s a good thing this rental cottage is a bit outside of town away from other houses. Bucky wakes at once and releases him from his sheet prison as quickly as possible, holding him firm against his body, metal arm draped over his chest.

“Steve. Steve. Steve,” Bucky says in a soft but resonant voice in Steve’s ear. “I’m here, Steve. It’s Bucky. I’m here. Wake up. It’s OK. I’m here.” He repeats this for another moment or two until Steve opens his eyes, disoriented, tears streaming down his face.

“Buck?” he says in a quiet voice that’s still dotted with hiccuping sobs. “Buck?”

“Yeah, Steve, it’s me,” says Bucky, kissing Steve’s ear and the skin just below on his neck. “I’m here, Steve, right here.” Steve grabs his vibranium arm like he’s never going to let go as his sobs quiet and his breathing gets regular.

After a few minutes, Bucky says matter-of-factly, “The dream, huh.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah,” says Steve. It’s always this dream, the same one he’s had for more than 70 years: a sleek speeding train on a bridge in the Central Eastern Alps, a red, blue, and silver shield, a couple of laser cannon bursts, “Grab my hand!” and a pair of blue-grey eyes under a metal bar that widen in panic when the bar breaks off and drops into the snowy ravines below...

“I couldn’t save you, Buck,” Steve moans, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, the nightmare still fresh in his mind.

“Yeah, Steve,” says Bucky, hugging him tight. “Yeah you could. And you did. I’m right here.” He manhandles Steve around to face him, to put Steve’s hands on his shoulders.

“See?” he says gently, kneeling motionless on the bed. “Right here.” Steve runs his hands down Bucky’s arms and looks him up and down like he can’t get enough, like he’ll never stop looking. Then his eyes darken and he grabs his partner to him in a crushing embrace, crashing his lips against Bucky’s like he wants to devour him. And Bucky is happy to be devoured, returning the kiss with passion and running his hands down Steve’s back.

Steve kisses his way down Bucky’s neck to bite him on the shoulder. At the same time he reaches down between Bucky’s legs to cradle his balls. Bucky gasps and involuntarily throws his head back. Then he lifts his head, spreads his legs wider, and says, “I’m here, Steve. And I’m yours. Do what you want with me.”

Steve growls against Bucky’s shoulder and sucks a bruise into the skin, listening to Bucky’s moans above him. He twists Bucky around onto all fours and grabs the lube from the nightstand. His moves are rough, possessive, not careful. He lubes up his hand.

“Here,” his voice rumbles, half an octave lower than normal and resonating around the room. “Mine.” And without prelude he shoves two fingers into Bucky’s loose, well-fucked ass.

“Yessssss,” Bucky hisses, leaning back against those fingers, his cock already aching. “Take what’s yours, Steve.”

Steve pulls his fingers out and pumps his cock with his sticky hand, then lines up with Bucky’s hole as if he means to go slow. Instead he enters him fully with one smooth stroke and smiles darkly when Bucky lets out a shout. He reaches forward and pulls Bucky’s hair as he starts fucking him relentlessly.

“ _Mine_.”

“Ah! Yours. Yours. Yours...haaaaaaaah!” shouts Bucky, as Steve reaches around with his other hand to grab Bucky’s cock.

“Come for me,” growls Steve. “My Buck, come for me now.” And he speeds up his thrusts as if to egg his partner on. Bucky cries out and his dick pulses against Steve’s hand. This tightens Bucky’s asshole around Steve, which causes Steve‘s cock to stiffen even more and...

“Oh...my...God...” Steve wails, seeing white light in the corners of his eyes and feeling the heat pooled in his lower abdomen surge over his entire body. Then he spills heavily into Bucky.

They collapse onto the bed and Bucky pulls Steve close to spoon him and kiss the back of his neck as he strokes down his arm from his shoulder.

“Love ya, punk,” Bucky whispers in his ear.

“Love you...too...Buck,” yawns Steve. Within minutes they’re both fast asleep.

*****

“Aaaaahhhhh...” Bucky leans back in the hot tub, crooking his elbows over the edge and feeling the jet warm against his back. Steve grins lazily at him from the other side and rubs his foot against Bucky’s leg. It’s the next morning and they’re lazing on the patio in the sunlight.

They slept like logs ‘til eleven and then ate a huge breakfast, and now they’re reveling in doing a lot of nothing until they have to check out of the rental cottage at two. It’s another beautiful day and the trees are gently dancing in the breeze as the clouds blow over the reservoir.

“This is amazing,” Steve murmurs, stretching his head back and reaching out to ruffle Bucky’s hair. He looks at his partner. “Thank you,” he says. Bucky’s mouth curls upward and he leans into Steve’s touch.

“Are you kidding?” he says, luxuriating in Steve’s caresses. “Thank *you*. Last night was...amazing.” Then his face turns sober for a moment, and he looks at Steve.

“Hey, Steve,” he says uncertainly. Steve notices the change in his voice, and looks up in alarm.

“Bucky? You OK?” Bucky pauses and takes a deep breath.

“When Nat sent me the reservation for this place,” he says hesitantly, “She also sent me the name of a therapist. For you.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise up his face. “But...but I don’t need...” Bucky cuts him off.

“Don’t you, though?” he says abruptly. “I mean, I’ll always be there for you...in every way...but a professional could really help you with all this. Help you process it...help you get through it.”

“And you know...” he continues. “You know I’m in therapy too...and it’s helping. Really.” He looks pleadingly at Steve with big eyes.

“But...” Steve starts haltingly, “It’s so hard...and I’m so scared...”

“I know,” says Bucky. “We’ve been through so much... _you’ve_ been through so much. And none of it is fair, for either of us.” He scoots over to sit right next to Steve, their thighs flush against each other in the warm water. “But now we have the chance to work it all out, to drop all the baggage, and to move forward together. Don’t you want to take that chance?”

Steve sighs, and looks up at the sky. Then he puts his arm around Bucky and pulls him close.

“OK,” he says, trying to sound resolute but with a voice threaded through with doubt and uncertainty. “Let’s do it. Send me that number.” Bucky smiles and lays his head against Steve’s neck.

“It’ll be hard,” he says, rubbing Steve’s leg under water. “And sometimes it’s gonna suck, but it’ll be worth it. I promise.” And he kisses Steve’s jaw.

Steve smiles, and a few seconds later his smile turns wicked. He pivots in a flash so he’s sitting on Bucky’s lap, straddling his legs over Bucky’s hips. A thrill shoots through his gut as he hears Bucky’s breath catch. He rubs his crotch against Bucky’s.

“I can think of something else that’s hard,” Steve murmurs, leaning in for a kiss.


End file.
